


Doctor Geiszler, Corner Desk

by Miracule



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Science Bros, Stream of Consciousness, science bros in a spat, sexual frustration or otherwise: you decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:11:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miracule/pseuds/Miracule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann broods over his colleague's transgressions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Geiszler, Corner Desk

**Author's Note:**

> You're a boy—a boy playing with his toys, drawing pictures on himself with permanent markers.

Don't stand there _—_ oh, god.  Have some respect, you _child_.  Don't stand over my shoulder breathing and not moving and refusing to take a step back, like any normal fucking person would do.  And don't tell me, how _dare_ you think you could tell me that I'm not working quietly enough for you.  If you can't stand the noise of chalk on a goddamn blackboard, how do you think I feel about the _noise_ of the bloody awful vacuous _shit_ you blare over your speakers at two o'clock in the morning? 

I keep waiting for you to leave but you never seem to go anywhere.   Why is that?  Having a late night wank under your desk?  I go to bed and you're there in the morning, same spot, in the same clothes, wincing at the same spasms in your neck you've been moaning about for the past three days.  Go to bed, I say.  Lie down straight.  No, no need for it.  Never any need for it, and I nearly feel sorry for you before I find dried blood and bile caked on the floor near my desk, when I've told you a thousand times to _keep it on your own fucking side_. 

Your side, my side, please don't cross the line I've so carefully marked down the middle of the room.  You stand on your end and peer over it, nodding like it's something incredibly funny.  Yes, good.  _My side, your side._

You're a _boy_ —a boy playing with his toys, drawing pictures on himself with permanent markers. 

If you think you can get away with this, you’re very, very wrong.  Take your work seriously, for a change.  Take _me_ seriously.  You walk in trying to show me your newest tattoo, as if you think I want to see even more proof that you live on a separate plane from the rest of us—that you’re up in the air looking down, jotting notes in green ink and sketching a design for a picture that can hardly fit on your body.  Perhaps this will be the one that reaches your cock, and I hope it hurts so badly you can barely sit down.    

You’re reckless, careless, and I wish I could _despise_ you.  Perhaps if you were ever unkind to me, I could.  It would be easier, I’m sure, to feel nothing when you finally get a bit of intestine wrapped around your neck and accidentally asphyxiate yourself.  I would go to your funeral, don’t worry, and say a few words—“He died as he lived: a true kaiju groupie.”  Your mother would burst into tears and embrace me as a son. 

Move back, I said.  Leave me alone.   Oh, don’t go into the corner and sulk like a child—you’re a grown man and I’m a grown man, and I want to be left _alone_.  Go on—glower.  Frown at the remains of the creature on the slab.  Your silence is like a gaping hole that sucks in every noise and every word I say.   It’s black and venomous and I feel it burning away at me because I know, I _know_ that it is in your nature to be forgiving.  I know that you will forgive me, without me having to ask for it. 

How do you do it, Newton?  Christ!  _How do you do it?_

 


End file.
